


Hurts 2B Human

by waywardodysseys



Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom
Genre: Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardodysseys/pseuds/waywardodysseys
Summary: You matter and you know you are not alone.You are strong, vibrant, defiant, courageous, amazing.You are beautiful.
Relationships: Pedro Pascal/Reader, Pedro Pascal/You
Kudos: 21





	Hurts 2B Human

**Author's Note:**

> This is published on Tumblr under the same name.
> 
> *This fic was requested.*
> 
> ***PLEASE*** read the warnings before proceeding to read this fic.

~The hurts~

The glistening metal beckons you like a moth to a flame. It’s mesmerizing, attractive. It’s going to be your compass.

You stand at the bathroom sink. Your eyes darting between the metal and your reflection in the mirror.

You know it will numb the pain. It’s done it plenty of times before.

The cool metal touching your warm skin. The pressured applied. The sharp sting of pain as the blade begins cutting. It guides itself against your flesh. The indentation of the metal against your skin marks it.

You’re numb as blood flows to the surface of the wound. The cut brings more pain to your body but no longer is the pain felt within your heart.

You sink to the floor as tears roll down your cheeks, you succumb to the power the blade has over you. You know it will beckon again. It always does.

\-------

Your heart aches as the pain returns. You are numb.

Tired of the drama, hateful words. Tired of not being loved, tired of being alone. 

No one will love me, you think as your eyes latch onto the metal peaking out from underneath the stack of books on your desk.

Your fingers itch to touch the cool metal, your body begs for the feeling of pain so you can numb the pain your soul feels.

Tears stream down your cheeks as darkness envelops you. The depression settles in as you yank on the metal, making the books scattered on your desk.

You sit back against your bed and as you look up silently asking the heavens why your life is hell.

You swipe the blade against your skin quickly. The pain is sharp like a papercut you don’t realize you have until you see the blood forming at the scratch.

Darkness consumes you. It taunts you, promises you there is an option to help with the easement of everything taking a hold of you, making you feel numb. An option which begins to pester you daily.

\-------

The mirror reflects your form back to your eyes. You wonder why you are stuck in this body. You think about what life would be like if you looked like those gorgeous magazine cover models.

It wouldn’t be like this, you think, I would like myself more. I wouldn’t care about what the others are saying about me.

“You’re beautiful,” your mom’s voice whispers in your in mind.

You frown and shake your head, silently rejecting her words.

“My daughter,” she would say as she combed your hair, “beautiful, sweet, caring. The world may be against you, but you are loved. Show the world you matter.”

You’ve tried to show the world you matter, but it fought back nastier than ever every single time.

Your eyes look down at your arms. They take in the pink scars covering your lower forearm right before the bend. You roll down the sleeves of your hoodie then walk into your bedroom and lie back in bed. You look up asking the heavens to bring you a godsend because if you don’t get one you fear there’s only one option left.

~The healing~

Pedro walks into the house and places bags of groceries on the counter. He hums a tune he heard on the radio before turning off the car. He doesn’t realize the house is quiet until he stops humming when he’s done placing all the groceries away.

Pedro perks up at the quietness inside of the house. He checks his phone, the white numbers of 3:17 stare back at him. You work from home majority of the week so Pedro knows you are home. Unless you drive in for a meeting or have lunch with friends. But he knows your schedule, today was not a day you were to have a meeting or have a lunch with friends.

He begins to wonder through the house you two share. Pedro walks by the office you use daily. It’s dark whereas on any other day it’s bright with natural light flooding in from all the floor to ceiling windows.

Pedro flips on the light.

“Turn it off,” you groan from the couch.

Pedro complies and turns the light back off. He takes a few steps in.

“I don’t hear the wonderful melody of fingers against a keyboard.”

“I needed a break,” you sigh defiantly.

He hears the frustration in your voice. “Talk to me mi amor.”

You sit up and see his form walking towards you in the darkness. It reminds of you the past and your history. You feel as though he is the past trying to come at you but it’s not. It’s only Pedro. 

“Out of all the assignments for mental health awareness month I get the three I have a,” you pause not knowing what to say next but you press on, “I was given, uh, I have a personal and close relationship with the three I was given.”

“Which were?” Pedro whispers as he finally approaches the couch.

He makes out your sitting form and sits beside you. He then rests back against the arm rest and pulls you to him, wrapping you tightly inside of his arms.

You rest against him and relish his strength. 

Pedro places a kiss against your temple. He’s patient, knows you’ll find the words. You always do.

“You know I’m an advocate for mental health. Always there for everyone else.”

“You’re strong,” Pedro whispers, “a pillar for all who need support, love, encouragement.”

Pedro cups your cheek, strokes your skin softly with his thumb. “And you know I am your pillar. Let it all out.”

You and Pedro have been together a couple of years. You never broached the subject of your mental health history with him before. It was in the past and you wanted it to remain there. Yet with Pedro he had become a beacon of strength, of hope, of love. He had been the godsend you had asked for all those years ago.

The godsend which made you turn your life around because you had to stay alive and keeping moving forward to make sure you didn’t let it pass you by when it appeared. 

You close your eyes as you gather the courage and strength inside of you to tell him, “I went through depression when I was younger mainly because I was tired of not being loved, tired of being alone. Afraid I was going to end up by being alone for the entirety of my life. Living in this miserable world alone, not living to the fullest. There were days I felt numb, everything was numb – my heart, my soul. I wanted to feel pain, I wanted to feel alive. I wanted the numbness to end even though I was in pain because of the depression. I ended up self-harming myself on multiple occasions because I, uh, I wanted to dull the pain I was feeling mentally so I could feel pain on me physically,” you pause before continuing, “I had days where I hated myself because of the way I looked. I didn’t appreciate myself. Hated my body, my looks. I hated my life in general. Didn’t want to see the beauty I had within myself.”

Pedro feels the stray tears on his shirt and against his thumb. He pulls you as close to his body as he can.

“Growing up it hurt. It hurt to be human. I’m not the only one Pedro. Everyone in the world experiences how it hurts to be human. Whether with their history of depression, self-harm, not appreciating the beauty not seen within themselves. I asked for a godsend, I didn’t care how long it took. It made me realize I had to live for it, waiting for it made me realize I could overcome everything and turn my life around,” you pause, “years later here I am with you. My godsend. The one who swooped in to save that damn book from falling into a puddle outside of Chevalier’s.”

Pedro smiles. He remembers the day he met you vividly.

You were walking out of Chevalier’s Books with a stack of books, not wanting a bag because your car was only parked down the street. The sun was shining after days of rain.  
People were on their bikes; some were rollerblading as well.

Pedro was rounding the corner when a group of people caught you off guard, causing you to lose the top book by spinning around trying to keep yourself from falling. He was there in the nick of time to save the book before it reached the puddle on the asphalt.

“Thanks,” you had said as you grabbed the book from his outstretched hand.

Pedro had mumbled, “you’re welcome.” 

He had turned away but seconds later he came back to your car, “‘It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; . . . who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.’”

You had stopped putting the books in the backseat of your car, and looked up into his deep, serious brown eyes. 

Pedro had looked into your Y/E/C eyes and knew he couldn’t let you walk away.

Pedro’s laugh now rumbles inside of chest, “I think I stunned you by telling you Roosevelt’s quote.”

You smile, “and since then you’ve been telling me to dare greatly in everything. It’s why I volunteered to write for the magazine regarding their mental health issue. It’s why I’ve done much in my life since you walked in.”

“You’ve always had strength and courage inside of you Y/N. You needed a force to pull it out of you. I’m glad I turned around and spoke to you more. I wouldn’t trade you for anyone else. You are my strength and courage too. You are more than your history, your past. I love you for you, which includes your past. You shouldn’t have been afraid to tell me. Never be afraid to tell me if it all decides to drag you down. I’m here for you. I will help. I will get you through it.” Pedro tilts your head back and brushes his mouth across yours.

You reach up and cup his cheek. Drinking in his love, taking him in. 

He pulls breathlessly away from you minutes later. “You are beautiful inside and out. Your past isn’t. Who’s isn’t? But we have now and the future to make memories which can outweigh the darkness. Remember you are strong, kind, loving. You are more beautiful than anyone else who brings you down. Don’t let the world tell you what should make you beautiful. The world doesn’t set those standards for yourself; you do. You’re beautiful in your own right. You have beauty, true beauty Y/N,” Pedro smiles, remembering his own frustrations, “remember I had doubts about myself? About my confidence when the stories came out after the reveal on The Mandalorian. The world didn’t appreciate me, yet I had you. You were the only thing I needed; you were there to give me my confidence. You are my confidence. I am your confidence. We are each other’s godsends.”  
You absorb his words. Knowing he is truthful.

“I don’t think I’d survived much longer if it wasn’t for you Pedro.”

“I am here now. We are here now. Together. We’ll make it.”

And you do. Together.

Never letting the past haunt you; never letting the darkness consume you.

You matter and you know you are not alone. 

You are strong, vibrant, defiant, courageous, amazing.

You are beautiful.


End file.
